DA2 Oneshots
by EvilBad
Summary: These are some Fenris-related one-shots that were originally posted on the k!meme. Mostly F!Hawke/Fenris.
1. Strays

_This prompt was asking for a story about a cat in Kirkwall. Of course I had to involve Fenris somehow. :P_

* * *

Fenris was uncomfortably certain that there was an intruder in his dilapidated mansion.

There was a feeling of someone or something *looking* at him, and it wasn't just the rats that scurried down the hallways after dark. It was something else, something watching.

It turned out to be a skinny, bedraggled orange cat with big yellow eyes, glaring at him out of the pantry door one morning.

He had been expecting darkspawn, perhaps a shade left behind by Danarius, when he heard something fall over inside the little closet, and when he jerked open the pantry door and saw the glint of those eyes it briefly confirmed his suspicion. He drew his sword before he had registered the tiny size of his intruder.

The little beast fluffed itself up to at least twice its size, arching its back and hissing at him angrily.

Fenris considered stabbing it anyway.

The furious feline tore out of the pantry, rounded the corner out of the kitchen, and in a neat little feat of acrobatics, jumped onto the stairwell through the meager space between the bannister slates and disappeared up the stairs.

He shrugged. He was not about to go chasing through the darkened mansion after a cat.

So every now and again, he would catch a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye, or see a glint of yellow eyes hiding in a darkened room.

Maybe if Hawke didn't keep *feeding* the damned thing, it would have moved on. He should never have told her about his discovery in the pantry.

She would bring some of the grinded meat she kept for her mabari and disappear up the stairs to leave something for it.

"You have to be patient with strays," she told him. "They don't know how to trust people."

Fenris didn't especially care about the psychology of stray cats, and said so.

Hawke gave him an odd look, and dropped the subject.

When the weather became bitterly cold and Fenris stayed next to the fire the majority of the time, he would notice the little beast creeping into the room whenever it thought he was asleep. It gave Fenris a wide berth and did not drift far from the door, but it sometimes ventured close enough to the fire to give him a good look.

The little cat would sit in a distinctively prim sort of way, with all his paws pressed together and his fluffy tail curled around them neatly. Through layers of grime he could see faint ruddy stripes across its fur, and its tail turned entirely white at its tip. If Fenris sat very still, it would close its eyes. But the creature's ears rotated at the slightest noise, so obviously it was still alert and aware of its surroundings, and not really resting.

It was much too cold for Fenris to be bothered to throw off his blankets and get up to chase the creature away, so he let him stay in the warm room for a few minutes, or however long would pass before the little cat became alarmed and ran away.

Hawke would say, "He wants to come closer, I think. He's just too scared right now."

The little beast was the reason Hawke continued to visit him, he imagined. Even as she sat in his room and talked with him, she would be alert for the little orange streak in the corner of her eye. Staring after it thoughtfully, she would speculate about where the cat came from. "He was probably dumped in an alley as a kitten. Or maybe someone tried to drown him – did you know people just put them in a bag and throw them in the harbor? He's never known people to be anything but cruel. No wonder he's so jumpy."

She continued to bring food, and the cat began to look a little less ragged, a little more plump. He was beginning to look like a handsome little cat, with neat orange fur and long whiskers. He did not meow like the pampered pets Fenris had seen before, but remained silent. Occassionally he would hiss at him, if he moved too suddenly or got too close, or sometimes just on general principle.

Anders, of course, claimed to be an expert on cats and had his own opinions on the subject. "You can't keep him cooped up in that dirty mansion. He should be someone's pet, in a nice home where he'll be warm and fed and brushed by somebody who knows how to take care of an animal."

Fenris would have been happy to let Anders take the beast away. But when the mage mentioned using a trap to catch and pen the cat, Fenris bristled.

No traps.

If the creature wanted to leave, it could leave. But he wasn't going to let the abomination imprison it against its will.

He was surprisingly firm on that point.

So the little cat stayed, and poked around the many rooms of Danarius's mansion, and Fenris would find him asleep in strange places, like an empty chamber pot, or in a pile of curtains on the floor. A little ball of orange fur, comfortable and peaceful.

Sometimes he left the cat some of his own food. Just to keep him out of his larder, or so he reasoned.

Hawke said, "It's not such a bad thing to have some company, is it?"

She could get closer than anyone to the little cat. She was patient, and calm, and did not insist. Gradually the cat became curious of her, and would come nearer. Low to the ground, he would creep up alongside her, tail lashing behind him, and his wide eyes would contemplate her with fascination.

She would sit next to him and talk in a sweet, low voice. And the cat would settle down next to her, folding his limbs underneath him and letting his eyes relax into lazy slits. She could not touch him, yet. But she would, someday.

"You do know a few things about cats," he eventually had to admit to her.

"I never could resist a stray," she said.

He knew it already. He was one of them.


	2. Protection

Hawke feels him wake - he doesn't make a sound, but the way Fenris suddenly stiffens beside her raises the alarm. Immediately she is awake too, and her throat tightens. _Again? Oh sweetheart..._

His head jerks up suddenly and whips back and forth, his eyes darting around the room wildly. She never knows what he's looking for. Even if she asked, he couldn't tell her.

Hawke has done everything she can think of to deal with this. The initial bliss of reuniting with her elf didn't hide for long that their problems were far from over. Very quickly she realized that her lover always emerges from sleep expecting to find himself in chains again. There has never been a morning when he did not look surprised to see her there with him. And often now he wakes in an utter panic from awful dreams.

He has always had nightmares, he has told her once. But they became much more vivid after Danarius's death. Awake, he is satisfied to know his former master is dead. But merely seeing him again in the flesh has brought back a lot of… unpleasant memories. Whenever he sleeps, he relives them.

There is always some light in Hawke's bedroom, now, so when he wakes he will know right away where he is. She doesn't want him to suffer a second longer than he has to. It's one of the small things she can do to make this place safe and comfortable for him.

The trick is to do this invisibly, because if Fenris catches you taking care of him he will back away. He is proud and he does not like to show weakness. As well he hates to cause her distress. She can't let on that she worries about him.

A little sneakiness is needed. Fortunately she is good at sneaky.

Hawke doesn't let on that she is awake. She waits, lets him realize when and where he really is on his own. She listens for his panicky breathing to start to slow. And she tries not to think about all the times he must have done this alone in the time they were apart.

Then she stretches herself slowly with a loud yawn and turns over, pressing herself against him. _Innocent little me, just wants a cuddle_. She hums happily to him, a tender "mmm" in a tone that only he ever gets to hear.

There are two things that could happen now.

The first is that he will jerk away and get out of the bed. He will pace around the house and she will follow him and there will be no more sleep tonight.

The second possibility, the one that happens tonight, is that he will relent. He will curl himself around her and bury his face in her hair and hold onto her. She will pretend not to notice the cause of this sudden affection. She will be sleepy-sweet and loving and draw him in.

He sighs and she strokes his face lightly, and lets herself drift. He is clamped around her like a vise, but she feels him relaxing along with her, little by little. He is following her back into sleep.

If only they could be together in the Fade as well. She wants to find whatever pains him there and cut it dead.

But it's his own mind that torments him, and she can't defend him from himself.

She can only love him, as hard as she can.

On these waves she drifts away to sleep, and leaves him behind.

* * *

Fenris feels her go.

Hawke is not nearly so sneaky as she thinks she is. He is well aware of the ways she tries to help. He notices everything about her; of course he notices every thoughtful gesture, every kindness.

It works. Sometimes just knowing she is thinking of him is its own relief. He is touched by her efforts and he lets her help, and sometimes he pretends a little, and sometimes that helps too.

Like this, letting her lull him into this embrace. Sometimes he will stay awake just like this for hours - entwined with her, breathing in her scent. He prefers that to whatever is waiting for him in the Fade. He is calm and content like this, grateful.

Hawke will drift off to sleep in his arms and he will marvel at how she trusts him.

He will envy her ability to slip easily in and out of sleep like a still pool of water, while his own sleep is a stormy sea. It fights him going in and fights him again coming out.

He has never had a regular bedmate before. He feels her relaxed in his arms and listens to her breathing and it is fascinating. She is somewhere away from him in the Fade and she is right here. Both.

He would like to visit her dreams. They are probably playful and lovely and wise like herself.

The remnants of his dream are still with him. The disturbing images, the memories, still haunt his mind. But they seem puny and powerless next to this: his Hawke. His warrior angel. She is real and solid in his arms and those other things become more and more insubstantial and far away, and it is a relief.

Those things are in the past. She is his future.

However terrible his dreams, they will end. But she will always be here when he wakes. The more he believes it, the less power they have over him. Someday he will awake thinking only of her, and all of these terrors will be gone.

Just knowing that lets him follow her into sleep.


	3. Wicked Game

_this one is a (really short) Isabela/Fenris. Warning: character death, endgame, depressing. _

_Inspired by the song "Wicked Game" - the pissed-off Giant Drag version, which you can listen to here: __ /cFiGYEd032Y_

* * *

She let him walk away.

It didn't matter either way, really. Mages or Templars, Orsino or Meredith, what the hell did she care? She thought it was funny, the Chantry blowing up. She thought Anders was probably asking for a knife in the back. Either way, she was just along for the ride.

She didn't see why he always had to be so blasted upset about everything. So Hawke agreed to defend the mages. So what. Would siding with the Templars undo anything about the past?

You couldn't take things so seriously. Treat life as the monumentally cruel joke that it is, that was her motto.

So why did she let him walk away? If it was all the same to her, why not follow?

It was taking too much of a stand, maybe. Not a stand against the Mages. Not against Hawke. (Anyway, to the Void with all of them.)

Following him into the burning city would not be a lark or an adventure. It would be running after a lover. It would be making a promise.

And she makes no promises.

Their liaison was just a game they were playing, nothing more.

So she watched him go. And when she saw him later, in the heat of battle, fighting on the other side, she did not acknowledge him. She kept on dueling, as she had always done – one on one, my life or yours, winner take all.

Maybe her side would win. Maybe his. Maybe she would survive, maybe he would, or both, or neither. It was all the same.

This was the game she had been playing with herself, for her entire life.

The whole world was on fire, and everything was hidden in smoke, but she could see him clearly the entire time. He was never more beautiful than he was that day, awful in his anger, mowing down their forces like a tidal wave.

Why didn't she intervene? When Hawke stepped up to fight him, why didn't she plunge one of her long knives into his back?

She stopped fighting to watch, and when Hawke stabbed a sword through his chest, she dropped to her knees and stayed there.

The fighting progressed into the keep without them. One side or the other would win. It was all the same.

Isabela sat down next to Fenris's body with the city burning down around her and waited for the fighting to be over, so she could return to the sea.

**This world is only going to break your heart.**


	4. A Dwarf,a Mage & a Golem Walk Into a Bar

"This is a TERRIBLE idea," the dwarf said.

The mage shrugged. "This is the way she wants to do it. We have learned to trust her instincts on these matters."

"Am I to fight in here?" the golem grumbled. "Not much room to maneuver, is there? And far too many flesh creatures and their slippery fluids."

The dwarf looked up, waaaay up, at the golem. "Can't handle it, Chip?"

The enormous rock creature loomed over the annoyingly talkative dwarf. "It can call me **Shale**, short fleshy thing. And of course not – I mean only that the elder mage becomes very cross with me when I make a mess."

Wynne, examining the common room of the Hanged Man with interest, glanced at the golem over her shoulder. "I thought we agreed that you would wait outside?"

"Must I? It's so much more entertaining to watch the fleshy ones choke on their beverages when they see me." Shale noted the frightened faces in the bar with some relish, and sighed. "Oh, all right. I suppose I will wait in the alley. This had better be an exciting match, dwarf."

With crashing steps the golem turned and noisily wedged itself back through the doorway, splintering the frame on one side.

"So much for the element of surprise," Varric muttered.

He could already see the elf emerging from the back rooms, an only semi-clothed Isabela trailing behind him.

"What in the world was that?" Fenris questioned Varric as he approached with long strides. Wynne turned her back and pretended to contemplate the bar.

"The rock pile? That's a golem, and we gotta catch it. Come on." Varric started towards the door.

Fenris looked after him quizzically, and then, sighing, prepared to follow. "I shall return in a few minutes, Isabela."

"All right, go and play. I'll be getting our refreshments."

Isabela strode to the bar. She hadn't bothered to retie her bodice or put on her boots. Which meant the eyes of every man in the room followed her.

"Corff, more of my usual. And give us the real stuff this time."

She turned her back on the bar and drummed her bare toes against the wood. She could see some appeal now in this not-wearing-shoes thing. The splinters were a problem, but…

"Hey," she said, tilting her head and studying Wynne. "Don't I know you?"

Wynne's cool grey eyes looked her up and down. "Perhaps you were wearing more clothes when last we met?"

Before Isabela could reply, a loud crash issued from outside, and both women raced to the door.

Outside, an impressively large and jagged chunk of stone had detonated against the side of the Hanged Man, after narrowly missing its target.

Despite her failure to splatter her fleshy opponent, Shale appeared to be delighted.

"It… sparkles! From head to toe!" the golem exclaimed.

Fenris had activated his lyrium brands for the attack, and he circled the golem with supernatural speed. His sword, clearly, would be useless against the solid bulk of the creature, and rapidly he considered alternate strategies.

Easily the golem extracted another hunk of paved road and threw it at him, which the elf easily dodged.

"Marvelous!" Shale watched the brands blur as the elf moved rapidly around her. "Oh, this will be fun!"

The golem would be considerably less delighted with what Fenris did with those markings now. Of course the creature had no heart to remove, so the elf did the next-best thing — he strategically selected a hunk of stone from the creature's leg and plucked it out with his phasing abilities.

With a sound of rockfall the leg caved inwards, suddenly rendering it considerably shorter than the other leg. Despite waving enormous arms for balance, Shale tipped over onto the ground with an enormous crash.

"It has broken me!" Shale wailed. "How is this possible? I'll crush its head for this, pretty or not!"

"You can try," the elf said, backing away. "And I can continue removing bits of you in the meantime."

"That's enough, Broody!" Varric ran over, waving his arms excitedly. "Damn, that was fast! I thought it'd take you at least half an hour to figure out how to bring that thing down!"

Fenris whirled on him. "You planned this?"

"No, we did." Wynne had already appeared at the Hanged Man's entrance, and approached slowly. Fenris's defensive stance quickly took in the unfamiliar mage.

Isabela gestured from the doorway behind the white-haired mage. "It's all right! I remember this lot, we met in Denerim. Yes, the golem too."

Wynne set down her staff and raised her arms in a reassuring manner. "We meant no real harm. We only wished to see what you are made of. So to speak."

Shale sat up and eagerly examined Fenris's markings, which still blazed with their eerie blue light.

"So it is true! An elf with lyrium flesh!"

"And leaping in and out of the Fade in combat," the mage added thoughtfully. "Very interesting indeed."

The elf's eyes darted between the four of them, growing increasingly incensed. "One of you explain yourselves, or I—"

Varric broke in, "will get stabby. We know. It was just a little test, elf. And it wasn'tmyideasopleasedon'tkillme."

Fenris pointed at the elderly mage. "If you indeed control this creature, make it stop… oogling me."

"Shale is under noone's control - she is a conscious being, a free golem. And she is very interested in your lyrium. She once spent many years in the caverns of the dwarves, where lyrium is mined."

The golem continued to stare at Fenris. "It sings to me," she said, and it was unclear if she was referring to past or present.

"They are very impressive," Wynne said. "Exactly as advertised."

"They are a torment," Fenris said stiffly, backing away from the approaching mage. "But they can be useful from time to time."

"A beautiful gift!" Shale gestured animatedly. "A marvelous enhancement for a flesh creature. Why, you are nearly a golem!"

"I am an elf, monster!" he sputtered. "Not a... talking rock!"

"It is… offended to be compared to a golem? Then I take back my compliment. It is merely another annoying fleshy creature."

Fenris scowls at her. "I am NOT an IT!" he spat.

Shale looked to Wynne, annoyed. "It is hearing this?"

"We have talked about this, remember?" she reminded the golem. "We flesh creatures don't much enjoy being referred to as 'it'. And particularly an elf from Tevinter would find it highly insulting. You may want to apologize."

If Shale had eyebrows, certainly one of them would be raised. "Apologize? Bah. It cannot recognize its own beauty. That is it's problem."

"I think you hurt her feelings, elf," Varric said to Fenris, who was still glaring at all of them with some degree of alarm.

Wynne moved to the golem's side. She took up the stone that Fenris had discarded on the ground, and pressed it to Shale's leg. "My healing magic is meant to knit flesh, but I think I can put this back together."

"You know these… persons?" Fenris glowered at Varric.

"Friend of a friend, you might say. And yes, I did advise them against this approach. But give them a chance, elf. They have a job opportunity you might be interested in."

"An audition, then? Pah. An apostate, and her enchanted pet rock. I am mystified that you thought I would be willing to work with them."

"I didn't recommend you to them, if that's what you think. They came looking for you specifically. I guess they heard all about you in Tevinter—"

Before Varric even finished saying the word, Fenris had raised his sword and was preparing to charge. Another imperial magister!

Wynne, having finished repairing Shale's leg, looked up at him calmly. "We were visiting Tevinter. We are not from the Imperium."

"A tourist then? Did you enjoy seeing a place where mages have absolute power? I do not like mages," he enunciated the last carefully. "My answer to any question you have to ask is no."

"I suppose that's understandable, considering."

Her kindly voice was even more irritating than her magic.

"Who told you about me?" he asked accusingly. This mage and golem seemed to know a great deal about him and that was troubling. Why should anyone in the Imperium still be interested in him, now that his master was dead?

Shale spoke up. "It is famous, of course! Many tales of it are told in Tevinter."

Fenris was feeling very tired. "Does he… she… refer to - does she mean me?"

Wynne stood again, smoothing her robes. "Oh yes. You were not aware? There has been quite a stir. Ah, here she is now. Have you seen enough then?"

"Quite," a low, feminine voice sounded from behind Fenris.

He turned and saw approaching another elf, dressed in what appeared to be imperial armor. A thin scar crossed her face, visible even at a distance. Strapped to her back were two full-sized blades.

Could she be… another escaped slave? He had never met another former slave in his travels. He had met Orana, but that was different. He had inadvertently freed her by killing her Mistress, she had not left of her own volition. This battle-hardened woman could have. It had never occurred to him to want such a thing, but the prospect of speaking to another runaway was exciting. Questions began to flood his mind.

The notion was immediately quashed, however, as she introduced herself.

"I am Warden Commander Jendra Tabris. Pleased to meet you." She did not smile or offer a hand. All-business, this one.

Ah. The Hero of Fereldan. The Warden was an elf; Fenris had heard this much, but seeing her was startling just the same. She was shorter and darker-skinned than Fenris, with black hair knotted behind her head and narrow violet eyes that gave her a permanently skeptical expression. She might have been beautiful when she was young. Now, in her middle age, she was more coolly impressive than anything else.

"I would introduce myself, but I suspect you already know my name."

"I do. You are Fenris, the fugitive from Tevinter. I apologize for the rudeness. I wanted to observe you first. There is so much rumor and conjecture, and I take very little on faith."

"Can we take this inside?" Varric interrupted. "If we're at the hanging-around-and-talking portion of the evening I'd just as well do it sitting down with a mug in my hand."

* * *

While the dwarf and the Rivaini were working on corralling Shale into Varric's suite rather than terrorizing the patrons of the Hanged Man, Fenris and the Warden sat across from each other at the great table. Wynne sat beside the Warden, and the two of them exchanged complicated looks which spoke to a long history together.

"Danarius," the Warden began. "You killed him, correct?"

Straight to the point, then.

"Yes. Alas that I could only kill him once."

"And his apprentice as well?"

"Yes. And I enjoyed it thoroughly. Does that trouble you?"

"He was a monster and an idiot," the Warden stated matter-of-factly. "And so was she. Yes, I heard a great deal about them during my time in Tevinter. He paraded you before the entire Imperium, and then you disappeared. It was really quite embarrassing for him. He made such a fuss over traveling to the Free Marches to personally retrieve you, and when he did not return… well..."

The elf looked increasingly interested. "Well?"

"Well. There was speculation and rumors aplenty until the Archon himself had to confirm that Magister Danarius had perished. He didn't say how, of course - they don't want to admit one of his own former slaves did the deed. Which made everything worse, rumor-wise. There were all sorts of stories."

"What kind of stories?"

Wynne cut in, smiling mischievously. "One might imagine you were ten feet tall and breathing fire."

"The Magisters one and all were terribly upset that the fool had gotten himself killed by one of his own slaves. The very notion of that makes their kind tremble, especially as word spread among the elves…"

Fenris suddenly glared at the floor. "I imagine they began killing the strong ones, then," he guessed bitterly. "To prevent an uprising."

"Yes." The Warden studied him carefully. "They did."

"But there is some happier news," Wynne prodded, with a gentle smile.

"Once Danarius was officially dead, all of his property — including his slaves — was transferred to his heir. Except the original heir, one Hadriana, was ALSO mysteriously killed, so the estate went to the magister's cousin —"

"Lucius," Fenris named him icily. He had no pleasant memories of THAT mage, either.

"Correct. Except," Jendra smirked, "he didn't get to enjoy it very long."

Just the slightest smile now on the elf's face. "Indeed?"

"Seems his newly-inherited slaves murdered him. Strangled him in his sleep and hid the body. It took some time to discover the crime, and by then the manor had been ransacked and all its inhabitants disappeared."

Now Fenris looked confused. "How in the world did they manage that? I did not escape from the heart of the capital city, only from an outlying village!"

Now, suddenly, there was a twinkle in the Warden's eyes. "They may have had some aid from a party of Fereldans."

A thoroughly uncharacteristic smile crept across his face. "This is… magnificent news."

"I thought you'd like that. The elves are in Orlais, temporarily, although I'm not sure where they will end up." The Warden sighed, her face darkening. "This is the problem of our age. What can I promise them now, after all the effort of escaping the Imperium? A life of poverty? Eeking out an existence in an Alienage? Subsisting with the wandering Dalish? There is so little for us even when we are free."

"It is better than what they had. I know it for a fact."

"You know," she said cannily, swirling a glass of wine in her hand, "there is enough unrest brewing that you could easily take over Danarius's estate yourself. They might make you a magister. It's unprecedented, but they are nothing if not practical. Have you any interest in returning to Minrathous?"

"Fasta Vas, surely you are joking," he answered immediately. "The magisters are the lowest scum of Thedas, and I do not want their ill-gotten treasure. If I have my way I would never set foot within the Imperium again."

"I see." Jendra set down her glass of wine and folded her hands in front of her. "I will be frank with you. I come from the alienage in Denerim, where a number of my cousins were sold to the Imperium by the Regent Logain before I cut off his head. At least a hundred were taken.

"I tracked their whereabouts to Minrathous. With the help of Wynne, and others sympathetic to our cause, we hoped to bring them back. It did not go well. Many died. Some of them were… broken. Too frightened and defeated to endure any attempt at rescue. Others I was unable to locate. I was able only to retrieve a few."

She paused for a moment.

"I think it would be possible to… purchase more, and bring them back to Denerim that way, if I could find a patron willing to help. I have not been successful so far, but I continue to search for a way to rescue them all."

"But that isn't why I wanted to meet you. My concern is that there's no place for us to offer the elves of the Imperium when they leave. And no place for elves anywhere that they could truly govern themselves. You, lyrium elf, have been inspirational for the slaves of the Imperium. The very idea that one of their own could do as you have done is a light of hope in a very dark place. And could be that for many more than that. You not only escaped and killed your odious captor, you live freely in the City of Chains as a companion to the Champion. Not in an alienage, or with the Dalish, but as your own man."

"You are truly impressive in battle, and I believe you are bright. My people - our people - they will listen to you. You could be exactly what I need to command my troops."

Fenris regarded her skeptically. Surely she had better options. She was a Grey Warden, and the Hero of Fereldan, and would probably have her pick of soldiers to choose from.

"You commanded the armies against the Blight, did you not? What would you need me for?"

"I am no strategist, not in battle at least. My skills lie in gathering talented people helping them do what they do best, and convincing them to do it for us. I have need of a General. I have a feeling that you are just the person for the job."

"I'm afraid I must decline. I am no leader of men."

"Oh, but that's the other thing." The Warden grins fiercely. "It will not be a command of men. I am building an army of elves."

Fenris's distinctive dark eyebrows raised in surprise.

"And _I'm afraid_," she went on, "I won't be taking no for an answer."

Somehow, he suspected she wouldn't.


	5. First time for everything

**this is from a Tumblr prompt involving the Blooming Rose, and it includes M!Hawke/Fenris**

* * *

This Fenris customer was stiff as a board, and not in the good way.

He was just standing there, not sitting or lying down but standing, with his arms crossed in front of him and looking like he didn't want to be anywhere near anything to do with the place.

I thought back on my instructions, and no, this wasn't one of those _drag-your-uncomfortable-friend-in _things, where we might make conversation awkwardly for a half hour while his mates waited down stairs. Hey, I get paid up front, no skin off my back. But no, this guy had paid himself. And he'd asked for me specifically.

He just wouldn't look at me, and I knew this was going to be one of those _difficult_ jobs.

"Tell Jethann all about it, dearie." I patted the bed next to me. He sat in a chair.

I got a better look at him. So, this was the famous glowing elf. Not glowing now. Maybe if we got a little friendlier I could ask him to show me that trick later.

"There is someone…" he started to say, staring at the floor. "There is a man. I wish to be with him."

I cut in. "But he doesn't want you. Is that the story?"

"No." He grimaced, and rubbed the back of his neck. "He does. That is not the problem."

"Okay." I waited patiently for him to explain. It wasn't easy. I'm not very patient.

"I cannot… I have never enjoyed it before."

"Sex." This was going to take forever to get him to spit it out.

"Yes." He turned suddenly, and looked out the window. I looked at his fists and his feet anxiously tapping on the ground and decided to take a stab in the dark.

"You were raped."

He visibly flinched, and finally looked at me.

Sometimes the whole forthright lack-of-tact thing works out for me, and sometimes it gets me punched in the face. Fenris looked rather like he would like to set me on fire. I guess he hadn't thought of it that way before, and he certainly didn't like to hear it said out loud.

I went straight into a backpedal. "Just a guess. Sorry. I shouldn't interrupt. You're the one paying me, right? No more guessing."

He went back to staring at the floor. "I used to be like you…" he tried to explain.

"Gorgeous?" Me trying to get things back on a lighter track.

"Except I wasn't… paid. Or… allowed to leave."

So. Abused, and a lot, then. Shit.

"So you like this guy, and you're attracted to him, but the whole sex thing basically freaks you out. Am I close?"

He nodded slightly. "I tried, once. And it was all right during, but afterwards… it wasn't." This last was so quiet I could hardly hear it.

I folded my legs up under me to get more comfortable, and assumed a thinking position. "So what can I do for you?"

He blushed. It was kind of cute. "You come highly recommended."

"By who? Oh… Oh! I know! It has to be our mutual pirate friend!"

"Isabela. She has recommended you on numerous occasions."

"And I didn't even pay her to advertise. That's our Isabela."

He even smiled a little. He was handsome, really, when he wasn't scowling.

"Some time has gone by, since it happened. And he still seems interested. To my surprise."

"So you've found a good one, then."

"I would not want to have it happen again. To try it again, with him, and end up running away and hurting him. He is too good for that."

I waited.

"So I wish to know if it is possible. For me to enjoy it. Without having some sort of… reaction."

Okay, this was hardly an unusual problem, sorry to say. Work in my business, you meet an awful lot of people who have been through the bad stuff. Customers and coworkers alike. It can be… tricky though. Everybody's different, and it's hard enough to know what's going to work for somebody without a whole trauma history to deal with.

I've fallen into the sex-therapist position more than once. I ought to put out a shingle. It works like this: I'm getting paid, and that means I'm an employee. I can get fired anytime, and it's no problem. I don't hold a grudge. And the only thing I want from you is money. So a person doesn't have to worry about me forcing myself on them or doing things they don't want. And I'm certainly not going to judge.

"Let's start with something simple this time," I told him. "I'm not going to hit you with the works right off, okay? We'll start easy and see how you like that, and maybe you can come back another time."

"And you could get paid again."

"And I could get paid again. How does that sound?"

He nodded, still looking deeply uncomfortable.

"Do you want to stay in the chair, or get on the bed?"

He thought this over.

"I suggest the chair, actually. So you can watch what I'm doing."

I started slow. Hands on his knees, rubbing up and down his thighs. I kind of babbled while I was doing it, about my day, the weather, the job. It seemed to put him at ease some, like I wasn't some rabid sex-monster. Just a regular elf doing the daily bump-n-grind.

It took ages to get him hard. He just couldn't relax. I told him we could do this another time, and he looked frustrated. It probably took an eon for him to make the call to come in the door, so he wasn't going to give up so easily.

"Don't think about me. Think about your man. Think about him doing this for you."

He laughed softly. "That is not relaxing either."

But it worked like a charm, though. He must have been really into this guy.

When I took him in my mouth he dropped a name. (Oho, the Champion likes elves, huh? That's an exciting development.) I didn't do anything too exciting, to keep it from getting too intense too quickly.

"Stop me anytime, for any reason, okay?"

"Hmm."

His head fell back against the chair and his eyes closed, and he must have been imagining the Champion there between his legs. Which was kind of exciting. I've never been a Champion before, but I'd like to think I can measure up at this task, at least. I bet the Champion can't take all of him down his throat like I can.

He stopped me just once, and he stared at the ceiling and caught his breath and calmed himself, slowly, and then I was back at it. He was very considerate, actually. Not grabby at all. Just the kind I like.

At the end he was saying the Champion's name a lot. "_Garrett_." Pleading. Wanting. I knew he was nearly there and I let him set the pace then, arching up against the chair and thrusting up at me until I tasted him down my throat.

I left him alone, then, to come down. He didn't move for awhile, just sat there, going somewhere else in his head. Then he was pulling his pants back up and thanking me.

"Can I ask one question? How long has it been for you?"

"Since Hawke?" He looked back at the ground again. "A few years?"

"You're kidding me." He looked apprehensive, like I was going to berate him or make fun of him or something. "Look, you're not paying me for advice, but can I just say? If the guy is willing to wait that long, then he's patient enough for _this._"

He shrugged. "Perhaps."

"Just do like you did here, only with him. And _slow_. And you're going to be _fine_. I know these things. I'm an expert."

Which I am. And I was right about everything. Aren't I always?

It was only a few months later I saw the Champion arm-in-arm with my one-time customer and both of them just glowing.

Although not the lyrium kind of glow. I never did get to see that.


	6. Solid Ground

**This is a Fenris/Isabela story!**

* * *

"Isabela, there's blood on your boot," Merrill pointed out helpfully.

She glanced down. Despite their bloody work the pirate nearly never dirtied her boots. They were of the finest Antivan leather and would be difficult to replace.

Sure enough there was a patch at the bottom of her calf where a dark stain was seeping through from the inside.

"Oh that's nothing," she said lightly. "It's so dark in this blasted cave I didn't even notice."

Merrill was suspicious. Normally Isabela would throw a fit if something happened to her boots. "Why are you walking so slow?"

"I'm tired, kitten. Long night."

They walked in silence for several minutes, and the young Dalish grew more and more worried. Silence from Isabela was not normal.

"It's that snake you stepped on, isn't it? The pretty yellow one? You said it didn't bite you…"

"I'm fine." She shrugged and kept walking without elaborating further. But there was a slight hitch in her step.

"It did look very upset. You sort of backed into it, when we were fighting off those giant spiders. And they do tend to bite when they get mad."

"Stop, Merrill. It's nothing."

Merrill hurried ahead to where Hawke and Fenris lead the way, swords drawn. "Something's wrong with Isabela," she told them, wringing her hands.

They all turned back and stared at the pirate coming up moodily behind them. "Just a wound on my leg, that's all," Isabela said crossly. "Andraste's tits, can we get this done with? I have such a headache…"

"Those snakes are _poisonous_," Merrill said, bending over to look at her leg. "Even a little bit of the venom could kill you."

"It struck my boot is all. If you're were so eager to get my boots off me, Kitten, you could just ask…"

But she trailed off, too tired even to manage innuendo. Hawke and Fenris circled around her now. "If you're bleeding it must have bitten through your leathers," Hawke said. "Will Elfroot cure it, Merrill?"

"No, no I'm afraid not. Even the Dalish haven't a cure for this particular kind of viper. She's going to need magical healing-"

And before she could say another word Fenris grabbed the Rivaini woman around the waist and slung her over his shoulder. She sputtered with outrage as he started to carry her off.

"Put me down you stupid sodding elf!" she roared over his back.

Isabela could see Hawke and Merrill just behind, drawing their weapons. "We'll cover you," Garrett was shouting after them.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded.

"Clinic," he said shortly, and Isabela slammed against the hard back of his armor as he stepped over the rocky terrain. This was not a graceful way to travel.

"You are not carrying me all the way back to Kirkwall!" She pounded on his back, incensed. "I can walk!"

"Mmmm."

"Dammit! Put me down!" She socked him hard in the lower back, earning a pained grunt from her captor. He hauled her up more firmly and continued on his way just the same.

"This is kidnapping," she complained bitterly. If only her head wasn't throbbing, she could really give him a thrashing for this.

Of course there would be more spiders on the way out of the blasted cave. She hoped briefly that the elf would set her down to fight them, but Hawke and Merrill took them on and the elf marched ahead towards the daylight.

She decided to try another angle. "All right, play time's over. Just set me down and I'll walk back to the clinic like a good girl, I promise."

Fenris didn't answer her, and she continued to slam into his back.

"Just because we slept together once or twice doesn't make you my keeper! Fenris! Are you listening?!"

It had been three times, actually. Although the count depended on how you tallied. Nights, positions, locations, orgasms… some of those counts would be a bit more than three. Not that it mattered. They were casual bedmates at best, and he had no right.

They reached daylight, which seemed to punch right through her eyelids no matter how hard she closed them. It hurt. She would rather stay in the cave.

"Fine, see if I ever take you to bed again!" she threatened. "You like carrying me around? Remember this because it's the last time you're getting this close! And at least stop spinning around!"

He slowed. "I am not spinning, Isabela."

She was quiet for awhile after that.

"Put me down," she requested again. When he paid her no mind she elaborated: "I'm going to throw up."

He took her down from his shoulder and held her under her arms as she sat on the ground and heaved. Everything she'd eaten since yesterday came up. This must be what seasickness was like. Even her iron stomach had some limits, it seemed.

As soon as the heaving subsided he lifted her up again. This time he folded her across his chest, letting her bad leg dangle beneath her. It was throbbing in earnest now, and her head felt heavy and thick. She laid it on his thin shoulder. It was not terribly comfortable.

"If you need to vomit again, point the other way," he said shortly.

_This must look ridiculous, _she thought. Fenris was strong enough to carry her thanks to his lyrium enhancements, but she actually outmassed him by a good amount. She was just hanging off him everywhere. _How completely undignified. I hope noone sees me like this. _

Good thing, though, they were well on their way back by now because the strange sensation in her calf was spreading and her body was starting to go numb. What wasn't numb was tingling, and not in the nice way.

"I'm sorry I punched you," she tried to say. But her tongue was too thick and it came out more like "mphforble" and Fenris grimaced and started to walk faster.

She gave up on talking.

She watched the sea over his shoulder as they followed the coast back to the city. The horizon was nice and steady, while everything else wobbled and spun around her. If only she were at sea. Always thought she would die at sea. If she died here, she hoped someone would know enough to put her in the sea. She should have told someone that while she still had the chance.

The city gates loomed before them and the guards there usually gave you a hard time if you weren't with a citizen resident like Hawke.

"Can you hold on?" he asked her.

Her arms were tingling but she could still grab around his neck and hang, for the moment anyway. Fenris strode up to the nearest city guardsman blocking the gates and plunged his hand into his chest.

"If you would like to keep your heart on the inside, you'll let me pass without incident," he said calmly.

The guardsman stared down at the arm that mysteriously ended at his own chest and wrapped icy fingers around his heart. "You - you're good. Go on in and welcome to Kirkwall."

He rushed through the gate and settled her more comfortably against his narrow chest so she could relax again, somewhat at least.

They took the stairs down into Darktown.

Her leg was swelling, straining against her boot. It looked really alarming and maybe they should have taken it off after all but there was no time. Isabela closed her eyes against the sight. She was starting to feel short of breath on top of everything else, she simply could not get enough air.

"Isabela?" she heard him say.

But she was too busy breathing to respond at all. It felt like she was floating in the air now. Everything was fading away.

Rather than come up with anything reassuring to tell her, Fenris broke into a run.

Things became quite jolty and exciting for awhile. Then she was being laid down on a bed and that was probably a good sign so she opened her eyes.

Fenris was dragging Anders over by the arm, quite emphatically, away from another set of patients. He deposited the protesting healer at her side. He did have a truly spectacular glower, which he turned on Anders in full force.

"Hey, we have a queue here—"

Fenris cut him off with a snarl. "Fix her. Now."

She was suddenly intensely glad it had been Fenris and not Hawke who had grabbed her. Hawke was a good leader and great in bed, but he would not have threatened the life of the healer if he didn't make her better right fucking now. That was the sort of initiative she appreciated in a man.

"Good grief, Isabela, what a mess," Anders said as he prodded her boot. His annoyance had turned very quickly to concern. "You should have cut this off her," he said and hurriedly took out a pocketknife to start to slice through the leather. "What got her? Darkspawn?"

"Snakebite. It seemed more urgent to get her here first."

Anders reluctantly agreed. "Yes, it probably was. Hold her up, all right? We need to get her heart higher than the wound."

Isabela was lifted up again, and then was leaned back against a surprisingly solid Fenris. Her head felt too heavy to turn and anyway looking at her leg made everything spin. She kept her face pressed sideways against him, with just a little patch of lyrium lined skin under his chin visible and holding still. She kept staring at it. If she looked away, she might lose her balance and fall over. Steady. Steady.

_How are you at sailing?_ she wondered abruptly.

"All right, hold her still while I work on her leg."

Strong hands gripped her arms. The boot was sliced open and her skin prickled against the open air.

_Doesn't matter. You're handy enough to have around. I could make a sailor of you. You'd be climbing the mast in no time. You'd make a terror of a pirate. And you'd look fantastic walking naked around the Captain's Quarters._

It occurred to Isabela that it would break a longstanding rule of hers to keep Fenris around. She never slept with her crew, and generally kept affairs on the shore.

But then again, hadn't she always said rules were meant to be broken?

Warmth and sensation flooded her as the healing began. Pain, too, as her nerves started to wake up again. She hissed and shifted, but with Fenris holding her down she couldn't quite move.

"That's looking better. You're lucky you got here when you did." Anders extended his magic to the rest of her, and Isabela's breathing eased. Her lips and tongue belonged to her again.

Her mouth was dry, but she managed to say: "You owe me a new pair of boots."

Anders laughed. "You're welcome."

He gathered up some bandages for her wound, which was still spectacularly swollen but looking much improved. It hurt when he handled it, but it was in a way a relief to feel something again.

Fenris kept a steady hold on her the whole time. And when Anders was done, and left her to rest, she stayed leaning against him a little while longer, for once content to stay in place on solid ground.

"Am I still kicked out of your bed?" he rumbled in her ear.

"Yes," she said hoarsely, and smiled. "But… the wall's still up for grabs. And there's always the floor…"


	7. My Body is a Cage

His own fault for going in the Emporium in the first place.

Anders generally avoided the place. But Hawke's nameday approached, and he needed a gift for the big man, something special.

When he saw the elf there, he should have just turned around and left.

But no; instead he stayed and Fenris stayed and they eyed each other uneasily and at precisely the same moment they saw it - the perfect gift. A robe of the finest furs, enchantment laced into every inch with silver threads. Fine and handsome, fit for a king. Or a Hawke.

They reached for it at the same time, of course. Hackles raised. They circled each other like cats. Words were said. Then they struggled. It was a wonder they didn't tear the cloak in half.

Instead, Anders stumbled to one side and a strange, pearl-colored glass fell off a dusty shelf and broke into a thousand pieces on the floor, producing a green mist that enveloped them both.

And then there was pain.

The pain was unreal. It seemed impossible, this pain. It seemed to be everywhere. The air pulsed with it, as though the world itself was wounded and shooting pain through him like lightning.

His skin was burning.

All over his skin burned, over the entirety of his body. And when he tried to push himself off the floor, the pain shot right through to his bones in a white-hot jolt and he couldn't help the sudden cry that tore from his throat.

He felt like he was on _fire_. But there were no flames that he could see, only spidery white lines that would not come off or stop burning no matter how he rubbed them and rubbed them.

"Help me," he croaked. "It's done something to me, I'm _hurt_…"

His vision blurred at another jolt of pain, but he could just make out the other person getting to his feet.

It was himself. Someone who looked exactly like himself. Blonde hair, thin, in tattered robes. Only he was over _there,_and standing up by himself, without him. What was he doing outside his body? Was he dead?

"I'm free," his body over there said disbelievingly, in Anders' voice. The familiar pale hands come up in front of his face to be examined. No markings. No scars. Only long, unblemished limbs that did not contort in pain.

"I'm finally free."

And Anders grinned from ear to ear.

On the floor, the man who was formerly-Anders traced the pain to his own body, this hand that did not look like his hand but was actually attached to him and hurt unbelievably. This olive skin was his, and it was marked through-and-through with channels of white light. He finally recognized the strange smell that surrounded him. It was lyrium. Everything smelled like lyrium.

"I don't understand," he moaned. "It hurts so much."

Anders, the other Anders, saw him hobbled on the floor in agony, and he _laughed_.

A delighted laugh, like a child at Feastmas who has gotten everything he ever wanted.

It made him dizzy, the one who used to be Anders, being laughed at by himself.

If that was him, who was he now? But of course he knew. He was Fenris. He was the elf with the lyrium burned into his skin and bones, and it hurt worse than anything.

Realization was reaching both of them. Fenris gaped up at his old body in horror and gasped with the pain. Anders held his sides and kept laughing. It was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

A bolt of anger passed through the elf-body and he pushed up to his feet realizing that if he was Fenris he would have all his abilities. He could easily wipe the smile off that face. The anger was a physical force inside him, it swam to the surface and tingled across his skin and brought his brands to life —

"AHH FUCK"

— if he thought it hurt before, this was even worse. It turned his vision white and snatched the whole world away while his body contorted and crumpled back to the ground.

He stayed there and worked on breathing for right now, breathing was first. He'd work his way up to punching that smug face of his and taking his body back.

Of course, he wasn't going to get the time to adjust. A firm hand jerked his head back and forced him to look up into Anders' face, still smiling from ear to ear.

"How do you like it, being me? Is it less pleasant than you expected?"

"I didn't know—" was all he could manage to say.

"Did you not believe me when I told you it was agony? No, you never listened to a word I said, did you?" Fenris was hauled up by unhobbled human hands around his neck. "I assure you, it was much less pleasant than this in Tevinter. I should send you back there for the full effect. You can be lead on a leash like a dog and raped and beaten for their entertainment. Perhaps then you will understand."

Anders shook Fenris's limp body until he was nearly unconscious. He seemed to take a grim pleasure in abusing this body that used to be his prison. Then he released him to the floor, where he lay still.

"Look at me," he said, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. "Human. Young. Handsome. I will make better use of this body than you ever did. Get rid of these mage robes, get out of Lowtown, and live like no elf in the world ever could. First," he sighed, "perhaps I will sleep the whole night through, without taking a bottle of wine first. What luxury."

"Justice!" Fenris/Anders suddenly remembered his spirit passenger, his friend. "Justice, help me!"

Anders cocked his head to one side. "Ah, spirit. There you are. An intriguing turn of events, isn't it? We have much to talk about, you and I."

Anders walked out of the Emporium, talking to himself, leaving Fenris crumpled on the floor.

It didn't look like he would be back any time soon.


	8. Not Alone

My little addition to the "Alone" quest, for my Hawke/Isabela/Fenris

* * *

Didn't she say from the beginning that this was a stupid idea? And obviously a trap? And not worth getting themselves bloodied over? And Fenris should just have them follow his sister from a nice safe distance instead of walking into a room with her blind and get themselves surrounded?

But _nooo_. Fenris has to do it the way she asked him to, because he wants so much to believe her, and he would probably have done it without any weapons and hopping on one leg if she asked him to because he has to go and get himself kicked in the heart _again._

Isabela is beginning to think Fenris is a glutton for punishment.

So now she's had to watch Hawke get herself all upset in a shouting match with that greasy old bastard Danarius, and it was going to take _ages_ to get her calmed down, and Fenris was even _more_ terribly upset and it would take three times as long to get him back to a baseline level of as-close-to-calm-as-he-gets, and all that means _Isabela is definitely not getting laid tonight_.

She is. not. happy.

AND she didn't even get to stab that rotten prick. Fenris tore his throat out without even kicking him around for awhile first. Talk about anti-climatic.

Now he's over at the end of the bar shouting at his sister for being a traitorous bitch, and Hawke is trying to convince him not to kill her, for some reason (as far as Isabela is concerned, the little witch deserves to have her heart ripped out, she clearly isn't using it).

(Why must people make so many excuses for useless assholes just because they share a bloodline? As if that means anything! As if they wouldn't sell _you _to the highest bidder just as soon as they got the chance! Just because Hawke was born into a household that actually liked her, did not mean everyone else had been that lucky.)

She doesn't worry about Fenris. Hawke will look after him. She lets Hawke take care of all that Feelings stuff.

Now Isabela stands over the body of Danarius and examines it disdainfully. What a total disappointment. From the way he had terrorized Fenris she had been expecting someone seven feet tall and breathing fire. Not this ugly, pathetic little man who had gone down with hardly a fuss.

This slimy wretch was an important man in the Imperium, Fenris had said. People would come to collect his body and bury him in a state funeral, with honors, the same people who had looked the other way when the Magister had mutilated Fenris and kept him as a pet, in a collar and chain.

This makes Isabela very, very cross.

She crouches down and takes out her long knives. She keeps her knives very sharp. She has always said that they could peel the hide off a Qunari. Now seems like a great time to test that.

She takes one knife and makes a long cut across Danarius's face.

As the blood blooms sluggishly across his cheek, Isabela begins to feel better.

"Isabela!" A horrified voice shouts at her. "What are you doing? That's DISGUSTING!"

"Keep your pants on, Big Girl," she mutters. Isabela finds it surprisingly easy to remove the man's nose, leaving an ugly hole in the middle of his face. _Try having an open casket now,_ she thinks.

"What-" Isabela sees Fenris rise up from the floor, forgetting his sister for the moment.

Isabela grins at him. "These magisters are tricky bastards. You have to make sure they're dead." She takes her other knife and plunges it into the dead man's chest, a good hearty stab. "Yep, I'd say he's pretty dead."

"No, wait!" Hawke snatches up Aveline's sword and runs over to join her. "I think I saw him twitch!" she calls, suddenly cheerful.

Hawke stabs Danarius in the stomach with great gusto, tearing at it with her sword until it's a great bloody mess.

"Ooh. That DOES feel good!" she says to Isabela.

"Doesn't it?"

"I've been wanting to do this for ages."

Isabela goes to work on gouging the man's eyes out, while Hawke brings up her sword for another satisfying plunge.

"Desecrating a body is illegal!" Aveline shouts sternly. "And it's just plain bad manners!"

"Oh, come off it Aveline!" Hawke says. "If anyone's got it coming, it's this guy."

The Guard-Captain turns to Fenris standing dumbly beside her, shaking her head. "Your girlfriends are frightening."

Fenris seems to be hypnotized by the sight of Isabela and Hawke dismembering his former Master. He looks vaguely sick. And, strangely… touched.

Aveline rolls her eyes. Then she kicks at the elf girl cowering on the floor. "You'd better get out of here while you can," she said. "I don't care where you go, but I'd better not see you in Kirkwall again. I might run you through myself."

Varania scrambles to her feet and runs out the door.

"Thank you," Fenris murmurs to her, not taking his eyes off his lovers and their bloody work.

Isabela stands up and wipes off her hands. "All right, that's getting boring!" she announces, sheathing her knives.

They've left Danarius a ruin on the floor, unrecognizable.

"Come here, elf," she says, approaching him.

"Are you all right?" Hawke says, wiping the gore off Aveline's sword.

Fenris takes a few steps back, shaking his head. He looks dazed. "I think I — I should go. I need to be alone."

"Bugger that," Isabela says. "You think you're going to run back to your empty house and sulk? Like hell you are."

"Definitely not," Hawke agrees.

She takes him by the arm. "You're coming back to my room, upstairs, with me and Hawke, and we're all going to get stinking drunk. We're going to drink the best stuff Corff has in this rotten bar until we can't remember our own names. And then you're going to shag me silly, and Hawke too. All right?"

He meets her eyes, finally, and gets a faint smile. "Yes ma'am."

"Good." She marches him straight back, leaving Hawke to climb over the bar and get their supplies.

Aveline, hands on her hips, looks over the sorry state of the bar. "What a mess."

"Sorry Aveline." Hawke comes up again, hefting an armful of bottles. "Want some help cleaning up?"

"Hmpf. No, don't bother. Go look after Fenris, I'll get the guard to clean up here." Aveline wanders over to the Magister's body and stares down at it thoughtfully.

With a clinking of glass bottles Hawke vanishes up the stairs, leaving Aveline alone in the wrecked bar.

She sets up a few chairs on their proper ends, stops, and sighs.

Then, after glancing around the room to make sure nobody is watching, Aveline goes over and gives Danarius a good, hard kick in the balls.

It did feel pretty good, after all.


	9. Distractions

_This was my entry for a Fenris fanfiction contest on Tumblr. I'm pleased to say that I won! _

_It was based on a piece of artwork, that I unfortunately cannot figure out how to link here,__ which depicted Sebastian dressing Fenris in his white armor._

* * *

"You are a peculiar man," said Fenris.

Sebastian buckled the gleaming white guard into place around his arm, seemingly unbothered by this assessment. "So I've heard."

"Is it necessary to wear your armor to learn to shoot?"

"Your armor would be impossible. The gauntlets alone, and the shoulders - No, this is better." He cinched the fabric tighter across the elf's back.

Of course the tall prince's armor was too big for him, but not unmanageably so. Clearly Sebastian had made adjustments. The jacket hung off his narrow frame where it had hugged Sebastian's barrel chest, but it would suffice.

"Armor is not necessary for training," he protested half-heartedly. It felt strange to be wearing another man's clothes. Especially clothing so… bright.

"Give me my fun." Sebastian stepped back to look him over and smiled approvingly. "Splendid. I should have a full set made for you like this. You could wear it to Starkhaven…"

"I haven't agreed to that," Fenris reminded him.

"Or you should keep this and I make myself another. I think it suits you better."

Fenris grimaced and looked at the ground. "I doubt it," he said quietly.

Most everything suited Sebastian well. Unlike Fenris, who was stiff and awkward in his own clothes, sometimes especially so around his easygoing, attractive friend.

Fenris did look forward to acquiring a new skill. Archery was one area of combat he had no experience in, and the ability could prove useful one day. As Sebastian was one of very few people he could imagine willingly taking direction from, when he offered lessons Fenris readily agreed, turning him down only once beforehand.

Sebastian dressed in loose clothing that Fenris had never seen before. Oddly enough, he looked much larger and ganglier without his gear. He whistled cheerfully as he brought out the targets. Sebastian had always enjoyed teaching, and he was a fine instructor, patient and thorough. But Fenris could tell that these lessons would have their difficulties.

For one thing, he did not remember his sword training to be nearly so.. intriguing.

"First: the arrow. My arrows are a very light wood, and on the long side. But the _shaft_ - the wooden length of it - is very firm. I like a good spine to them, so they are a little more stiff than most other arrows."

Fenris cleared his throat. "Are they?"

"Yes." The arrow slid between his deft fingers until the sharp tip of it rested in his hand. "The _head_ is typically a fine steel. Since we are here for target practice, we will use a blunt. A lesser metal, and less sharp, but still quite potent. The arrows I use in combat are sharper and barbed, to make them harder to remove. This arrow, though, will enter the target smoothly and pull out easily."

"Mmm-hmm." Fenris observed the arrowhead sliding in and out of the archer's fist, an illustration of his point about smooth entry, and felt himself start to flush.

"The _fletchings_ are quail feathers, and help the arrow fly true. They are taken from the same bird, to give equal shape and smoothness. They are quite soft."

Sebastian suddenly seized the elf's hand, the one that was not currently encased in a leather glove, and lifted it to feel the quail feathers that lined the end of the arrow. They were indeed soft, and very smooth. They would sail in the air like the bird himself once had.

Sebastian's hands were also very soft.

"And then here, here is the nock." He guided Fenris's fingers to the notch in the end of the arrow, where it would sit against the bowstring.

He stood dumbly staring at the arrow until Sebastian returned with a bow. "Hold your left arm out in front of you," he instructed Fenris.

Sebastian placed a bow in his hand, arranging his fingers in the most correct hold. "You are free to invent your own technique once you have mastered mine," he said. He then came around behind Fenris to lift his other arm, which still held the arrow.

"Now we will nock the arrow. Hold the cock facing away from you."

"The- the what?" Fenris stuttered, thoroughly flustered.

"The middle feather, the white one."

Oh. On the arrow.

"There, see how the nock is now aligned to the bowstring? Set it on the string."

To the elf's further distraction, Sebastian followed his arm to the bowstring with his own very long right arm, while his left held his bow arm straight. There were arms all around him, in other words, and a long torso against his back.

Sebastian's gentle rolling accent came to him from just above his own head. Why was he so blasted _tall? _Even most humans weren't this tall. It was disconcerting.

"Now, pull back the arrow."

The bowstring tensed as he flexed it back, Sebastian guiding his hand. "Keep this arm parallel to the ground. Steady the arrow, wait for stillness before you release. Keep your fingers well away from the guide, the fletchings are sharp in flight."

The guiding hands at his arms retreated, and Fenris was holding his shot at the ready. The bow quivered, faintly, with the potential energy of its notched arrow.

He could not stop himself from gasping when Sebastian's hands landed on each side of his waist, and his mouth came to his ear to whisper:

"_shoot_"

He released the arrow, and it flew… right over the target, and into the distance.

Fenris bristled immediately, and even moreso when Sebastian let go of him. The archer was laughing, a musical laugh, backing away with a bright and merry look that made Fenris wish for lightning to incinerate him on the spot and spare him this embarassment.

Fenris threw the bow on the ground. "I am terrible at this. We're done."

"Oh no, no no!" Sebastian stopped laughing immediately. "I'm sorry, it — it was a fine shot, in everything but aim. Forgive me."

The elf glowered. First he had made him dress in this… ridiculous armor, and then encouraged him to make a fool of himself. "If you're finished, I will take my leave."

"Fenris. It was only your first shot! I would not expect you to hit the target on your first try. We hadn't even covered how to aim yet!"

Still suspicious, Fenris relented. "All right. I will try it again."

This time the archer stood opposite to advise and correct his form, which made it easier to concentrate. When he released this time, the arrow struck the edge of the target.

"Good!" Sebastian sounded pleased.

"Better, at least."

They repeated the process until Fenris was striking the target on a regular basis, if nowhere near the center of it just yet. But he had forgotten to pay attention to the felching feathers, and one of them slit open his left thumb upon release.

Fenris shook his hand distractedly, looking for his arrow. It had missed the target again.

"Did you cut yourself? Let me see!" Sebastian grabbed at his hand, and he felt the human take his hand in both of his and draw it near to his face, examining the wound. Fenris looked over just in time to watch him bring the thumb to his mouth and put his lips around it, in a kind of suckling kiss_._

Fenris startled, yanking back his hand in an elaborate flinch.

The two stared at each other for a moment.

"It was bleeding," Sebastian said resolutely, and his eyes were strange and bright. Then he apologized. "I forgot myself, I am sorry."

"It is fine," Fenris answered quickly. "I do not mean to be ungrateful. You have given me your time… and even your armor…"

The archer seemed eager to hurry them back to a more comfortable subject. "Is it comfortable?"

"Fine. The fur collar is unnecessary."

"You haven't experienced a Starkhaven winter. I think you'll find it very necessary, should you accompany me. As my commander, this would be your uniform."

Fenris shifted uncomfortably. "Surely this can be eliminated," he said, grasping the small bust of Andraste situated at his waist.

Sebastian grinned. "It's my emblem. I'm afraid it has to stay."

Fenris grumbled, "It would make more sense to have your face there." Then he realized what he had said and wished to die on the spot.

"Goodness no, I'm not nearly that vain."

Fenris decided he had best flee the area before Sebastian could notice what he had said, or before he could humiliate himself any further. "Oh look," he said quickly, "the sun is much lower than it was before I should go."

Sebastian looked at him quizzically. "We have at least another hour of daylight." Then he called after him, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He certainly was, but would not realize it until the door closed upon him in his manor and he saw the ivory guard still on his wrist.

He had taken Sebastian's armor, and left his own at the Chantry.


	10. Neighbors

_this might become a longer story if I have the time someday._

* * *

Fenris knew something was awry as soon as he entered the manor.

Of course it was rather hard to find a _specific _symptom of something amiss in a house overrun with rats, skeletons, and fungus. But Fenris had a very definite sense that _someone else had been here_, and as a fugitive he was inclined to take those instincts very seriously.

He drew his sword and stepped carefully forward.

"Come out and face me, if you dare!" the elf called to whoever might be listening. He lit his brands until they blazed and whirled around at a sudden, high-pitched squeak that issued from behind him. He might have simply raced at the source of the noise — stab first, ask questions later — except that he had noticed a small detail that made him pause.

His intruders were _tiny._

Tinier than elves or dwarves, even. They appeared to be children.

They were trying, very ineffectively, to hide behind one of the curtains.

Fenris sighed. He generally tried to forget that he had _neighbors_ now, and never gave a thought to what they might think of him. But he knew he could easily be blamed for frightening the local brats and burned out of his home for it. He would have to handle this carefully.

He set down his sword and allowed his brands to cool. "Come out of there," he said crossly.

A nervous giggle issued from the curtain, but no movement followed.

Patience was not a virtue Fenris possessed in abundance. He tore aside the curtain and exposed the two hiding children sitting on the windowsill, who cringed up at him with enormous eyes.

"Out," he commanded them.

The two children crawled down from the sill and scrambled to their feet. They were little human girls with dark faces and huge brown eyes. They wore brightly colored dresses festooned with flashy scarves and mismatched accessories, and the lacey skirts were dirtied about the knees. The larger one rushed to brush the dust and cobwebs off first her dress, and then her sister's.

The tiny one had shoved all the fingers of one hand into her mouth and was busily sucking on them. Fenris had no way to tell how old she would be but she must have been very young. She looked like a giant head floating a spindly little body beneath it, and her face screwed up as if deciding whether to cry.

The elder child hastily finished shaking the dirt from their clothes and took the smaller girl's hand protectively. Unlike her sister, she looked him right in the eye, and did not blanch.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"We're _spies_," the littler one said around her fingers.

The elder one nodded. "That's right."

He glared at them in perplexity until he realized that this was _a pretending game_.

Yes, children did that, didn't they? He had no experience with children and no memory of his own childhood, but Hawke had decribed something like this in his stories about Lothering. Sometimes young people would playact at being adults. For some reason.

He couldn't resist correcting them. "Spies would not dress in such vivid, easily visible clothing."

"We're _Orlesian_ spies," the elder child helpfully informed him.

Which drew a sudden, surprised chuckle out of the elf. He supposed that made its own kind of sense. The Orlesians having very little grasp of subtlety in his experience.

The tinier human looked offended at his laugh. She was very serious about being a spy. "Make him stop," she prodded her sister.

Her sister lowered her eyebrows and attempted to look fierce. "We have _infiltrated_ your house. Now you have to tell us things."

Fenris leaned back against the wall and contemplated the two little spies. "A spy does not _ask_ his target for information. A spy observes in secret."

"We did," she complained. "We watched out the window. And we looked at the mail that's all piled up outside your door."

"And what did you learn?"

"Nothing. You come and go a lot but you don't talk to anybody and everybody's afraid of you. They say they're not, like Mr. Harriman does, he says all kinds of things he would do to teach you a lesson, but I think he's a liar and he wouldn't dare." She looks down at her shoes for a moment, as if wondering if she shouldn't have said that. Then she thinks of something else. "There's a name on the letters but it's not yours, because Papa says the house isn't yours and that means the mail isn't yours either."

"Correct."

"Then what IS your name?"

He regarded the both of them seriously. "If I tell you, will you leave?"

They looked at each other.

The elder child said in a solemn voice: "Our mission would be complete then, so… yes."

"My name is Fenris."

The little one cocked her head to the side and screwed up her face in a dissatisfied manner. "Fenris what?"

"I have no other name."

She took a moment to consider this, with great seriousness, and must have found it an acceptable answer. Suddenly she grinned. "Okay. Bye!"

She tottered up to her feet and skipped blithely away, her big sister starting after her. Turning quickly to wave, she told him, "I'm Jamila and she's Rita. Nice to meet you!"

And she too scrambled out of his view, little legs pounding noisily against the cobblestones.

Fenris harumphed and closed his door and resolved to block the entrances more effectively next time.


End file.
